


The Art of Creation

by Lafaiette



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Love, Solas and Scarlet are two dorks in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 04:27:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11638890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lafaiette/pseuds/Lafaiette
Summary: “Are the embroideries you sew Dalish,vhenan?”“Yes, most of them. My mother taught them to me.” she answers, twisting the colored thread around one of her fingers with incredible agility. Solas watches it mesmerized.In which Solas and Scarlet Lavellan teach each other their own art.





	The Art of Creation

Watching Solas paint is a wonderful experience.

He has to hurry, because the colors of the fresco dry up fast, but he also has to be careful and precise, because he won’t be able to fix any mistake later.

Still, despite that, he asked her multiple times to join him and Scarlet always refused because she was too scared of ruining his work.

“You won’t ruin it.” he would always reply, chuckling and kissing her, squeezing her right hand – always her right one, because he fears the left one – and tapping color on her nose.

“I will! I have no idea how to paint a fresco and I’m not that good at drawing.” she would remind him, before admiring the beautiful forms on the walls. “I can only make simple shapes on my embroideries.”

“I could teach you. Maybe not on these walls, but on others.”

He repeats this last offer today, too, and Scarlet blushes, thinks about it – she imagines Solas’ hands guiding hers, his warm presence behind her, his laughter and chuckles in her ear, his lips on her nape, the beautiful scenes they could paint together.

“Alright.” she accepts, grinning happily, and he beams at her, before hurrying to take out a medium slab of polished stone hidden under his desk. She realizes he was hoping she would say yes, sooner or later.

He teaches her the terms and words of this delicate art. He shows her the different brushes and their different sizes, the correct way to hold them, the different ways to mix colors and create new hues.

They are sitting on the couch of the rotunda, in a calm hour where the guests are taking short naps and the agents are busy with whatever task Leliana gave them. Nobody will bother them for a long while and they have all the time to play with the colors, share playful kisses, and laugh.

Scarlet underestimated her drawing skills: she possesses them, although she is still sure they are more suitable for embroidery works, but Solas helps her turn her visions into something good for the slab of stone, too, and their two different styles mix together.

He presses kisses on her cheeks when she is proud of the result and he hugs her tighter when she gets worried and doubts her talent, prompting her to continue with reassuring words and praises.

And he guides her hands, yes, but she sees how hesitant and gentle his touch is when his fingers brush against her left one, her cursed and blessed hand.

His eyes don’t even linger on it, but she sees the sad and regretful shadow in them, and she briefly interrupts their lesson to see what’s wrong. His melancholy is not as strong as it was before the start of their relationship and she is so happy for that, because it means she is helping him feel better, but it still comes back once in a while and it seems the Anchor is one of the causes.

“Solas, I’m fine. It isn’t hurting me at all today.”

It’s true, the Mark hasn’t been bothering her like it did at Haven for quite some time now; sometimes its mysterious elven magic gets triggered at night and it flares up, filling her – _their_ – quarters with that eerie, green glow.

But Solas is always there for her, ready to help her and soothe the pain, and that’s when the sorrow in his eyes gets worse.

“I’m not worried about today.” he replies with a sad smile and she thinks he’s referring to the future nights, to the possibility of seeing the Mark flare up again tomorrow or the day after tomorrow.

She sees the fear in his eyes, but doesn’t understand that it’s caused by the certainty of what the future holds for her – fame and success and even greater accomplishments, yes, but also the dangers that these things bring and the inevitable refusal of the Anchor for her flesh.

“Oh, _vhenan_.” she says, smiling at him, in that sweet, reassuring way that always makes his heart sing and his wish to tell her everything grow. “It will be alright. I think my body has finally gotten used to it.”

“Yes.” He smiles, too, a wet, frail thing that makes Scarlet worry even more and he curses himself for that. He fears he ruined their day, their blissful moment of peace, but she reassures him again and this time he does take her left hand, shielding it in his tender paws, not to protect the Anchor, but to protect her instead.

Then he kisses her, a long, deep kiss that leaves her breathless, and she giggles, hiding her blush against the soft texture of his clean sweater. But he raises her head, a gentle caress on her cheek, and he swallows her giggles and kisses her blush, carrying them deep into his heart to be cherished forever, his own mouth smiling happily.

The colors they spread on the slab of polished stone are almost dry and they will have to stop for today. But the figures on it are already taking form and Scarlet can already recognize the outline of the aravels of her clan and the hearth the children would steal bites of simmering food from.

Solas lies it flat on the wooden timbers placed at the other side of the room and casts a protective spell on it, so that nothing and nobody will ruin it. Then he goes back to the papers and documents he has to finish writing, all waiting patiently for him on his desk, and Scarlet punctually joins him, sitting on his lap, her sewing kit back in her hands.

That’s one of the ways they spend their quiet moments together and even if she knows there is a rather big pile of letters she should read on her desk, too, she would rather spend the entire day on Solas’ legs, watching him write, kissing his cheek, receiving his kisses in return, and creating her beloved embroideries on one of her shirts or one of the sweaters she sewed for Solas.

He noticed the elegant movements of her hands and the graceful grip of her fingers on the needle before, but today he finally gathers the courage to ask more, letting his curiosity and thirst for learning run wild and that tints her cheeks pink again because she is flattered and happy.

“Are the embroideries you sew Dalish, _vhenan_?”

“Yes, most of them. My mother taught them to me.” she answers, twisting the colored thread around one of her fingers with incredible agility. Solas watches it mesmerized. He has seen memories of people sewing in the Fade and he has learned how to repair his own stuff after a year spent in the wilderness of this less magic world, but he is nowhere as good as Scarlet.

He can only fix holes and repair tears, and even then he isn’t that good, too used to a time when magic could fix almost anything and enchant clothes with a merely whispered spell. But Scarlet is _great_ at this and she can _create_ , not also repair. She can decorate and give more life to simple, bland shirts and hide messages of love into her sweaters for him.

She is filling the petals of a small, delicate flower near the collar of the shirt, a petite, elegant thing that will surely catch the eyes of the less snobbish Orlesian noblewomen in visit. She touches the colored threads with a fingertip, makes sure they are tight enough, then proceeds, quick and precise like he is when he’s painting frescoes on the walls.

She has many little cuts and scars on her hands and fingers, but none of them are caused by the needle; he knows this because she told him so, one day, proud and timid at the same time. He would have known it even if she hadn’t told him anything, though, because it’s clear as day that the needle follows all her instructions and her mind and hands know exactly what to do and how to do it.

He thinks with rage and hatred of the scorn and mockery that such a beautiful talent would have caused in ancient Arlathan; pompous nobles, not so different from the Orlesians, scoffing at the direct use of hands instead of magic, confused stares and disgusted sneers, doubts about her talent for magic.

He can even imagine Falon’Din’s cruel jokes and Andruil’s rage, her accuses of Scarlet mocking the great Sylaise by using her art without magic, by refusing the use of her spells and teachings.

He presses his lips on her cheek, grateful for the fact that she never met them, that she will never meet them.

“You’ve grown quiet again.” she chuckles, patting his thigh, and he nuzzles her neck, eliciting another giggle that warms his heart.

“Would you teach me, _vhenan_?” he asks and she turns to him at that, wide-eyed, two fingers still holding the needle midair, right before it was about to plunge into the soft cloth.

“I am intrigued by the way you do it.” he explains, nodding at her work. His smile turns sheepish, but also proud, proud of her. “I am not very good at sewing, but this looks beautiful and fascinating and I’d like to try.”

Her mouth hangs open for another second, then she beams at him and almost bounces on his lap before kissing him and showing him the flower she’s completing.

“We can start with this one! It’s very simple.”

And this time, she guides his hands and protects his fingers from the needle; she shows him the correct way to hold it and the shirt, the Dalish techniques and embroideries her mother taught her; she explains how to create the illusion of different shades to give more depth to the embroideries, how to tie and knot the thread at the end.

He does everything she says and follows her example, asks questions, laughs with her when he makes a silly mistake and apologizes when he fears he’s ruining her work.

Finally, after more than an hour or so, the little flower is complete and they look at it with joy. It’s the fruit of their hard work together, something created by their hands just like the small fresco lying on the wooden timbers is, and he wonders if he will be able to sew something for her in the future.

He cradles her face in his hands and looks at her with a warm smile and warm, loving eyes, for so long that she smiles, blushes, and looks down at her lap, fidgeting.

“ _Ma vhenan_.” he calls softly and when she raises her face to look at him, she thinks he looks beautiful and he thinks the same of her and they are so lost into each other, so busy smiling like two dorks, that they don’t hear Dorian enter the rotunda.

“Maker, aren’t you two the most endearing sight in this world?”

Scarlet chokes on a yell, while Solas lets out an undignified gasp and turns to the intruder with eyes of fire and a scary scowl that doesn’t scare Dorian at all. If anything, he just smirks smugly at him, before looking at his best friend with a softened, sweet smile and amused, kind eyes.

“I believe Josephine is looking for you, my friend. A merchant from Tevinter is here to speak with you and my presence is requested as well.”

“I’m… I’m coming right away!”

“Good! I’ll keep Josephine and the merchant busy a little more to give you time to… calm yourself.”

Scarlet groans, blushing hard, and the Altus leaves the room with a booming, velvet-like laugh.

“I must go.” she mumbles, collecting her sewing kit and shirt. “Uh… I need to put these away somewhere.”

Solas takes them from her hands, carefully folds the shirt, and then places it all on his desk, smiling at her.

“I will wait for you here. Your kit and shirt will be safe with me.”

“Thank you!”

She kisses him again and he holds her in his arms, sends her all the warmth and love he has in his heart through his embrace, and she feels them, returning them with another kiss.

“I hope it won’t take too long, but if it does, go to our quarters.” She fixes the collar of his sweater, looking up at him with golden eyes speckled with love. “We could eat dinner there today. Alone. In complete privacy. With some candles.”

He laughs and pulls her back for another kiss. She smells like paint and parchment, but if he presses his nose just right beneath her ear, he can smell the faint traces left of her perfume, the same ones that linger on his skin and clothes after a day spent in her arms and proximity.

“That is a marvelous idea. I will warn the cooks and servants to bring our food there, then.”

She leaves his lap, straightens her pants and shirt, leans down to press another kiss on his lips, then begrudgingly exits the room, turning back to wave at him with a huge smile before opening and closing the door.

One hour later, while he is neck deep into his researches and documents, a courier comes with a letter from her, written during the meeting with the merchant, meeting that doesn’t seem will end anytime soon.

After thanking the messenger, Solas opens the folded note and a smile blooms on his face: Scarlet drew a cute depiction of herself blowing him a great number of kisses and she used red ink to color the many hearts on the page.

He chuckles, caresses the little Scarlet’s cheeks with a finger, then folds the page again and slips it under his sweater, pressed between the soft woolen cloth and the leather straps he wears underneath it.

There is a small box in their room, where he keeps all the notes, messages, and letters they send each other through the day and that’s where this cute, new message will go soon, its ink safe from fading, the paper safe from Sera’s curious and sticky hands.

He goes back to his room, looking forward to the blissful hours that await him and Scarlet, and his heart is finally at peace, at least for the time being.

The wolf whines joyfully, waiting impatiently to hold his mate in his tender, gentle paws, and dreams of a time when he will be able to do that for all eternity.


End file.
